The Remedy
by AngolMoaChan
Summary: The remedy is the experience, this is a dangerous liason. Spain/Romano


The Remedy

AngolMoaChan

**If you can't tell I really like this pairing. |D**

_Hic. _"Fuck."

_Hic-hic. _"Merda."

_Hic-hic. _"DAMMIT!"

Lovino "Romano" Vargas stood in the kitchen of his small apartment, his knife slicing through the red ripe skin of a tomato with chef-like precision. His brown eyes were narrowed, staring at the food as if it were an enemy on the battlefield.

Not that the innocent _tomato _was the enemy. No, it was these damn hiccups. Every now and again, between rhythmic chops of the steel blade in his hand, he'd be interrupted by the blasted things. Now it had become almost a routine—hiccup, curse, slice, repeat.

It didn't help that Antonio was in the kitchen, either. His roommate and former protector was currently seated at the small island in the center of the room, swinging his feet against the counter and looking rather involved in the sports section of the Madrid local newspaper, the headlines hiding his handsome face. Not only was he not helping with dinner ("But you always tell me I can't cook!" was his excuse, and Romano was lying through his teeth every time he said that, but those were details for another day.) but Romano was pretty sure the Spanish bastard could _hear _him hiccupping. Couldn't he tell he needed help?

"Oi. Spain."

The elder nation set down the newspaper and smiled, a loopy grin that took up half of his face and lit up his eyes, "¿Si, Romanito?"

For a moment, Romano felt the phrase "You two are like an old married couple" bounce around in his mind. He stabbed the thought down rather quickly, an unhealthy blush covering his cheeks, and hiccupped once more. "Do you—_hic—_dammit!—know any—_hic-hic—_merda!—ways to get rid of—_hic!_—"

"Get rid of…?"

"_Hic! _SHIT! THESE GOD-DAMN HICCUPS!"

Antonio smiled bemusedly at the younger nation. He was bright red, half from embarrassment and half from anger; it was downright adorable. "You know, Lovi, if you dyed your hair green…"

"Shut up!"

"Okay, okay…hiccup remedies, you say?" Antonio chuckled and set the large newspaper down, folding it into a neat pile on the island, then put his chin in his hand. "Did you try drinking water…?"

"No shit. _Hic!" _

"Hmm…okay. How about holding your breath?"

Romano frowned and stabbed the knife he was holding into the cutting board, putting his hands on his hips. "_Hic! _Fine."

--

An hour passed, and Lovino was slowly getting more and more irritated. Every remedy they had tried, from holding his breath to standing on his head to even putting peanut-butter on the roof of his mouth, had failed.

And frankly, Romano didn't even _like _peanut butter.

Spain was staring at him; with that stupid, happy go lucky grin, his chin in his hand. How could that damn bastard be so _happy _all the time? It pissed the elder Italian off to no end, honestly—

"Lovino? I think I…might have another idea…"

Romano frowned, cocking an eyebrow, his mental tirade cut off. It was unusual that his protector called him by his real name; maybe he was actually being _serious. _"…this one better be fucking good! If you—_hichic!—_make me stand on my head again, I_ hic! _swear to fucking God—"

And then, before the young Italian could even finish his rant, Antonio had grabbed his chin—gently, but grabbed nonetheless—and kissed him. Lovino let out a noise rather like a cat that had been in the way of his Vespa but…well, hell. It's not like he could really move, and the bastard tasted like tomatoes. He was stuck, was all. Romano felt the barest brush of Antonio's tongue against the roof of his mouth and then—then the bastard pulled away, leaving him spluttering.

"Ah—hey! What the fuck was that for?!"

Antonio smiled, licking his lips, rather like a preening cat, "Well…it's a remedy in my home. Pressing against your soft palate with your tongue interrupts the air flow and can dissolve the hiccups."

"…"

"Aha~well, I have to get going! Tomatoes to pick and all, a meeting to attend to—" grinned the Spaniard, waving as he turned towards the doorway

"HEY—WAIT! DAMN BASTARD, GET BACK HERE!"

"Oh, si~?" Antonio turned around—to be met with a chestful of Italian. He blinked; Romano squeezed him tightly around the ribcage, burying his nose in his protector's shirt. "Romanito…?"

He looked up, face bright red, eyebrows furrowed. "…thanks."

--

**Ehh...suck ending is suck. I'm at school, so I had to rush it a little...XD; Read and review! **


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